Outlook Not So Good
by GIRL IN STORY
Summary: We don't get a complete story. We don't get catharsis. We don't get anything but tired. No pairings. Standard disclaimers apply.
1. Tony

"Here," said McGee.

Tony looked up from his computer. McGee was standing in front of his desk, with a doubtful expression on his face and a hardcover book in his hand. The words, "Deep Six: Outlook Not So Good," were embossed on the glossy dust jacket.

"My publisher gave me a bunch of copies, and my bookshelf is full. I figured you could use it as a doorstop or something."

"How generous of you, Probie. And I didn't get you anything." Tony looked across the bullpen to see Ziva already immersed in her copy, her dark eyes flicking back and forth as she read. McGee dropped the book next to his keyboard, and Tony realized that he had hesitated too long, and accidentally offended his junior agent. It wasn't the first time, but when he insulted McGee he liked it to be intentional.

"I'll need something to read if our caseload doesn't pick up," he said repentantly. "We haven't had anything to do since the Walker case. I've never been so sick of paperwork in my life. And that's saying something."

"No dead Marines is a good thing, Dinozzo," said Gibbs.

"Right, Boss. I'm not saying I want a Marine to die. Maybe they could just get threatened. Or they could roughed up a bit." He met Gibbs gaze. "Or I could shut up."

"I am not sure you could," said Ziva.

When Gibbs took a drink of coffee, Tony knew that he was hiding a grin behind the paper cup.

"Get out of here," said Gibbs,

McGee blinked. "Are you sure, Boss? It's early days yet."

"Yeah, but you're annoying me. Go home. Get some sleep."

McGee and Ziva grabbed their backpacks and headed for the elevator, but Tony stayed behind. He had a couple more requisition forms to fill out.

Gibbs pulled out his cellphone. The weak light from the screen illuminated the movement of his fingers, and Tony smiled when he recognized the familiar phone number.

"Sausage, pepperoni and extra cheese?"

Tony leaned back in his chair. "You even have to ask?"


	2. Gemcity

"Have you read Thom E. Gemcity's new book?" Ziva asked, sitting down and turning on her computer. Her copy of McGee's latest thriller was protruding from her open backpack. She smiled dangerously, and McGee sighed. He was starting to regret his impulsive decision to give his coworkers copies of his book. Whoever said that a writer is his own worst critic obviously never met any disgruntled federal agents.

"I'm waiting for the movie version to come out," said Tony.

"Actually," said McGee, "I have a meeting with a producer on Thursday."

"Who are you going to get to play me, D. W. McGriffith?"

"You aren't in my book, Tony."

"Fine. Who are you going to get to play Special Agent Tommy?" asked Tony.

"Danny Devito."

Ziva snorted inelegantly.

"What?" McGee asked innocently. "Yesterday you told me how much you loved him in _Romancing the Stone_."

"That's not funny, McGemcity."

"It is a little funny," said Ziva.

"I don't know why you're offended. Agent Tommy isn't based on you."

"I thought he admitted to writing about us during the Landon case," Ziva addressed Tony even though she was still looking at McGee.

"I thought so too."

"My characters aren't based on you anymore," McGee amended. "I learned my lesson."

Ziva caught Tony's eyes and smiled. "He is telling the truth. In his latest book Tommy and Lisa flirt shamelessly."

"Which we never do." Tony managed to keep his face straight.

"Also, the case in "Deep Six" is unlike any that we have encountered. It was fascinating."

"I can't take all the credit," McGee admitted reluctantly.

He knew that if he didn't say anything, Tony would speak up as soon as he read "Deep Six." McGee considered the possibility that Tony would never read it, since he never read anything other than case files and magazines with pictures of naked women on the cover, and McGee wasn't even sure he read those. The senior field agent avoided paperwork as much as possible, and McGee would bet all his royalties that Tony's enjoyment of Playboy wasn't literary no matter how many times he swore he bought it for the articles. On the other hand, Tony would probably read "Deep Six" just to get ammunition to use against his junior agent.

McGee set his shoulders and said, "I based the case in my book on Eight."

"Eight what?" Ziva's forehead furrowed in confusion.

"It's short for The Magic Eight Ball, which is a nickname the press gave a serial killed named Sarah Shelley. I'm surprised you haven't heard of her, Ziva. She was arrested in 1999, but she was really famous. She targeted cops."

"She killed law enforcement officers?"

"No, she didn't kill them, but a couple of them killed themselves after she was through with them. She kidnapped their friends and family and then sent them clues about where they were. None of the LEOs figured out the clues in time to save their loved ones until 1999. Eight went after a rookie. No one knew why she did it. She usually targeted detectives and federal agents, but she was caught by a rookie. I wish I could have interviewed him. It would have really helped my characterization."

"Why didn't you?" Ziva asked.

"I don't know who he is," he said. "The arresting officer's name was never released. I guess he was afraid of copycats or stalkers or something. Eight was popular."

"She was popular?"

"You know how people get about serial killers. She had a pretty big following."

McGee glanced at Tony, surprised that his coworker hadn't started teasing him about serial killers suing him for copyright infringement or something like that, but Tony seemed to have gotten bored and started doing paperwork. His head was bent over a stack of reports and requisition forms. McGee was uncomfortable with the idea that he was less interesting than paperwork.

Ziva wrinkled her nose. "I do not understand this aestheticization of murder. In Israel, the taking of a life is never celebrated. Sometimes it is necessary, but it is never celebrated."

"You can't expect logic, Ziva. There's nothing logical about serial killers. Especially ones like Eight. She was really hard to write. I really wish I could have interviewed her arresting officer. I thought about hacking into the department's files, but I don't even know what precinct she was arrested in. She picked her victims from cities all East Coast and Central States. Based on the information that was released at the time of her arrest, her biographers believe that she was caught in either Illinois or Kentucky."

Ziva crossed the bullpen to sit on Tony's desk. She picked up his letter opener and ran her finger along the blade. "Tony, you were in Illinois around that time, were you not? Do you remember hearing anything about McGee's serial killer?"

McGee had forgotten that Tony used to work for the Peoria Police Department. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he used to be a cop, since he never talked about his past. McGee could understand. He wished he could forget what it was like to be a rookie, but Tony would never let him.

Tony laughed and said, "I was fresh out of the Academy. I was too busy trying not to trip over the hem of my uniform to worry about a serial killer. She wasn't even in my jurisdiction. If she crossed state borders, then it must have been a federal case."

McGee nodded. He considered himself an expert on Eight after all the research he'd done for his book. "An FBI taskforce was assigned to catch her, but the rookie found her first. You must have heard something, Tony. It was all over the news."

"Research your next book on your own time, McGee," said Gibbs, striding into the bullpen and throwing an empty coffee cup into the trashcan. "Or the only news you'll have to worry about will be the help wanted ads."


	3. Abby

"Hey, Abby," McGee said, handing the forensic scientist a sweating Caf-Pow. "Gibbs wants to know if you reviewed the ballistics from the Walker case?"

"And it takes two of you to ask me that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as Ziva entered the lab.

"I think we were annoying him."

"In that case, I'm surprised he didn't send Tony."

"Tony has not been as irritating as usual today. I think he knows that Gibbs is at the end of his rope," said Ziva. Abby thought it was funny that Ziva never seemed to have problems with American idioms when Tony wasn't around.

"Well, I've got something that will put Gibbs in a good mood," said Abby.

"A miracle?"

"I reviewed the Walker case twice. The forensics are solid and ready to go to trial."

McGee sat down in Abby's ergonomically designed office chair, and spun himself in a circle. "Abby, do you know anything about Eight?"

"What don't I know? I love serial killers. I mean, I don't love serial killers like I love bunnies, but I love serial killers like I love a really good infectious disease. They're fun to study, but I wouldn't want one anywhere near me. Did you know that Lewis Carroll was suspected of being Jack the Ripper?"

"Do you know where Eight was arrested?" he asked.

"Illinois, wasn't it?"

"That's what most of her biographers said, but Tony said that he doesn't remember hearing about the arrest, and he was living in Peoria in 1999."

Abby cocked her head contemplatively. "He was, wasn't he? He would have been all shiny and new."

"Just like the cop who arrested Eight," said McGee.

Ziva smiled. "Maybe it was Tony."

"Yeah," McGee laughed. "Right."

Abby picked up Bert, and squeezed him absentmindedly. His artificial flatulence echoed off the walls of the lab.

"Ziva, did you say that Tony was quiet today?" she asked.

"I said that he was not as irritating as usual," Ziva corrected her. "What is wrong, Abby?"

"Did he read the book?"

"What?"

"Did Tony read the book?" She asked insistently.

"No, but we were talking about it in the bullpen this morning," McGee shared a puzzled look with Ziva.

Abby frowned. When it came to her friends, her instincts were second only to Gibbs' infamous gut. She remembered seeing Tony's handsome face freckled with blood in her dreams the night before Kate was killed. She had cried until she could taste the salt on her lips, and then dragged her duvet to the couch, because she couldn't spend the rest of the night in her coffin after a nightmare like that.

"Last year," she said slowly, "I asked Tony if he thought I should get a Magic Eight Ball tattooed on my thigh. He told me not to get it. Tony loves my tattoos."

"You are joking, right?" Ziva was still smiling.

"You think that Tony arrested Eight? An FBI task force couldn't catch her, but you think that Tony could?" McGee asked.

"He was a rookie. He was living in Peoria. He's told us stories about Philadelphia and Baltimore, but he never talks about Peoria." Abby started pacing the length of her lab. Her five inch platforms made a hollow sound every time they hit the floor. As memories of grainy black and white photographs and expressionless news anchors saying nauseating things assaulted her, she couldn't believe she had ever thought that serial killers were interesting

"He would have told us," said McGee.

"I don't think he would have," Abby suddenly felt like crying.

"Why not?"

"We wouldn't have believed him."


	4. Ducky

Ducky was playing a game of chess with Palmer when Ziva, McGee and Abby invaded Autopsy. Abby led the way, prying impatiently at the glass doors with black chipped fingernails before they registered her presence and slid out of her way.

Ducky was used to Abigail so he sedately knocked Palmer's Bishop of the way with his Knight.

"Checkmate."

Palmer sighed good-naturedly.

"Ducky," Abby panted.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Tony," she said. "Eight."

"What did Tony eat? I've told him for years that he needs to cut back on the pizza and Chinese food. His arteries must be a sight for sore eyes by now."

Abby interrupted him. "Tony arrested Eight. He did, didn't he? Didn't he, Ducky?"

"The serial killer?" Ducky blinked, and took off his glasses. He polished them on the sleeve of his scrubs, as though it would help him see the situation clearer.

"Yes." Abby's voice betrayed her impatience.

"Not that I'm aware of. There was nothing in his medical records to suggest a confrontation with such a notorious sadist."

Ziva spoke up. "There would not be anything in his medical records. According to Abby and McGee, she persecuted her victims psychologically."

"I suppose she did," Ducky replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Palmer glanced between the scientists and the field agents. "Tony never mentioned Eight. That sounds like something he would talk about. Doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Ducky answered honestly. "Why don't you ask Jethro? Or better yet, why don't you ask Anthony?"

"That would be too easy."

Abby and McGee jumped at the sound of Tony's voice.

The doctor in Ducky couldn't help but notice the way Tony's sterno-mastoid and trapezius muscles tensed as he walked into the room, and leaned casually against a metal table. The friend in Ducky couldn't help but consider what that signified.

Ziva glanced Ducky before asking, "Did you arrest Eight, Tony?"

"Yes, I arrested Sarah Shelley. I've arrested a lot of people. I've been a cop for twelve years. It isn't that surprising," said Tony.

"Really?" McGee sounded excited. "Can I interview you for my next book?"

Tony shut his eyes. Ducky had examined the victims of serial killers more times than he could count, and he could see, without cutting Anthony open and weighing his heart, that he was just as much a victim as anyone that had ever laid on his tables.

"What does it feel like?" McGee asked.

Before Tony could answer, his cell phone started to ring.

"Dinozzo." He nodded, even though he was on the phone, and said, "We're on our way, Boss."

Flipping the phone shut, he said, "It feels like we've got a dead Marine, Probie. Gear up."


	5. Ziva

Gibbs turned off the highway, and pulled a Starbucks parking lot when they were halfway to the crime scene.

Ziva raised a delicate eyebrow, and Gibbs said, "He isn't going to get any deader."

Tony followed his boss into the coffee shop, and Ziva trailed behind them, while McGee waited in the van. Ziva wanted a chance to stretch her legs, but she also wanted to keep an eye on Tony. She was not as familiar with the Eight case as McGee and Abby were, but she recognized the skeletons when she saw the closet door. She regretted her curiosity.

Inside the air-conditioned coffee shop, Tony flirted loudly with an attractive barista with neat cornrows and big brown eyes, but it didn't distract Ziva from the fact that he ordered a mocha. She knew from experience that Tony only drank coffee when he was undercover.

When it was time to leave, and Tony was still flirting, Ziva sighed. She said, "Tony, shut up and get in the van. You are climbing me up the wall."

"Driving," said Tony.

"That makes no sense. Who drives up a wall?"

Tony smiled. "Sometimes I'm afraid you're going to."

"Dinozzo!" Gibbs yelled from the driver's seat.

Ziva expected silence en route to the crime scene, but Tony cracked jokes, quoted movies and played with the radio until Gibbs threw the last of his mocha out the window.

When they arrived, the clearing was silent, save the sound of the breeze rustling the crime scene tape, and the leaves of the sycamore tree that cast a shadow over Petty Officer Lynn Trapper. While Gibbs spoke with the local LEOs, Ziva, Tony and McGee began processing the scene. McGee bagged and tagged, and Ziva retrieved a sketchpad from the back of the van, leaving Tony the task of photographing the corpse.

Petty Officer Trapper was laying in a supine position on the grass, with one arm resting on his chest. They did not need to wait for Ducky's autopsy to tell them that the cause of death was the lesion on his larnyx, but the small puddle of blood on the ground suggested that they were looking for another kill site.

Ducky and Palmer arrived, parking their vehicle parallel to the van, and bickering as they made their way to the crime scene. Ducky removed a liver probe from his bag and knelt in front of the body.

"Do we have a name?" he asked no one in particular.

"Petty Officer Lynn Trapper," McGee supplied.

"Well my dear Lynn, let's see what you can tell us about your attacker."

Ducky carefully inserted the liver probe. While he waited for the temperature to register, he and McGee began checking the body for evidence. McGee paused, and reached into the Petty Officer's jacket while he opened an evidence bag with his other hand, but the plastic bag dropped to the grass when he pulled out a tattered copy of "Deep Six: Outlook Not So Good."

Ziva took the book from him, because he did not look like he was going to move anytime in the near future. She empathized with McGee. She knew that he still felt remorse over the events of the Landon case, but they needed to know if Petty Officer Trapper's possession of "Deep Six" was coincidental, or teleological.

She felt Gibbs and Tony move to stand behind her as she scanned the cover. "The Continuing Adventures of L. J. Tibbs" had been crossed out and replaced with the subtitle, "The Continuing Adventures of Rashell Hasey."

Ziva opened the book. The title page was blank, but underneath the dedication was a note written in neat capital letters.

DEAR SPECIAL AGENT TOMMY,

_JE SUIS REVENUE_. DID YOU MISS ME? CONCENTRATE AND ASK AGAIN. YOU CAN THANK THOM E. GEMCITY FOR TELLING ME HOW TO FIND YOU. I'M HIS BIGGEST FAN. THE DAY I READ HIS LATEST MASTERPIECE WAS A RED-LETTER DAY FOR ME.

WITH LOVE,

RASHELL HASEY

Ziva turned another page, and then another. There were no more notes, but every sentence about Special Agent Tommy had been underlined. She turned back to the dedication page, noticing for the first time that McGee had dedicated his book to the team, and read the letter aloud.

Without looking at Tony, she said, "Rashell Hasey is an anagram for Sarah Shelley."

"It must be a copycat," said McGee.

"You speak French, don't you Ziva?" asked Ducky. The liver probe rested, forgotten and obscene, in Petty Officer Trapper's abdomen.

Ziva shook her head, and a strand of dark hair licked her cheek. "I am not fluent. I only know how to say things like, 'Where is the bathroom?' and 'Drop your weapon.'"

"I'm never going on vacation with you," said Tony, eying her warily.

Ziva shot him a startled look. She was as familiar with his defense mechanisms as she was her own, but she did not think he would be able to joke at a time like this.

"_'Je suis revenue' _means 'I have returned.' Feminine form," said Tony. He misinterpreted the expression on Ziva's face and said, "My mother taught me a little French."

"What the hell is going on?" asked Gibbs, and Ziva turned her surprised look on him. Like Ducky, she had believed that Gibbs knew everything there was to know about his team. Even if Tony had not confided in him, she had assumed that the Eight case was in his file. She had imagined Gibbs taking Tony to the gym, and coaching him through his anger, or letting Tony talk it out over a glass of bourbon.

"It must be a copycat," McGee repeated.


	6. Fornell

Fornell's arrival in the bullpen went unnoticed, because every member of the Major Crimes Response Team was in the middle of a separate conversation. Abby was telling McGee that there were no fingerprints on the book, Ducky was telling Gibbs that capital letters indicate a desire for control, and Ziva was speaking into the phone in such a soft voice, that Fornell could only assume she was threatening someone.

The FBI agent used their distraction as an opportunity to study Dinozzo. Like Ziva, Tony was in the middle of a sotto telephone conversation, but he appeared to be begging rather than intimidating. "Care. Carolyn, please. Listen to me."

Fornell had come to tell Gibbs' senior field agent that Shelley had broken out of the padded room she'd been locked in for the past decade, but if Dinozzo was talking to his partner from the Peoria Police Department, then it was old news. Fornell sighed. He hated finding out he was one step behind Gibbs' team. It made him feel old.

Ziva hung up the phone at the same time as Dinozzo. "We are not dealing with a copycat. She has escaped from prison. She incapacitated a guard. I have had a word with him."

"Fornell?" said Gibbs, looking over Ducky's shoulder. The fact that it had taken him so long to notice the FBI agent was a testament to his distraction. "What are you doing here?"

"Director's orders," Fornell shrugged.

"Your director or mine?"

"Both. It's going to be a joint investigation." He saw their blank looks, and added. "I was part of the taskforce that was assigned the Eight case in 1997."

Gibbs frowned. "You knew Dinozzo before I hired him?"

Fornell had always known that he would pay for it someday, but when he'd seen Dinozzo trailing behind Gibbs at a crime scene and the probationary agent had pretended not to know him, he'd played along. Sometimes it was best to leave the past in the past. He doubted Gibbs would see it that way. He sighed again.

"Why do you think the kid annoys me so much? I wanted to be the one to slap the cuffs on that bitch, but Dinozzo beat me to it."

Tony ignored him. "McGee, you need to call your publisher."

"Crashaw? Why?"

"Shelley said that the day she read your book was a red-letter day. That means she sent you a letter."

McGee wrinkled his nose. "It does?"

"It probably came in a red envelope, or something like that."

McGee picked up the phone and started to dial. Fornell wanted to ask for a sit rep, but he recognized the set of Gibbs' shoulders and decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Todd? I need to speak with Miss Crawshaw, please. No, now. It's important. More important than that." McGee pinched the bridge of his nose. After a minute, he said, "Miss Crawshaw, it's Tim. Have you gotten any fan letters for Gemcity recently? Signed Sarah Shelley or Rashell Hasey? It's pertinent to a case. Yes, again."

"Anything?" Gibbs asked.

McGee glanced at Gibbs and shook his head. Tony spoke up, "She might have used a French name."

"Are there any letters from people with French names? What color ink? Fax it to me."

McGee hung up without saying goodbye, and Ziva glanced at Gibbs expecting to see a proud look on his face, but he was still staring at his senior field agent. The bullpen was suddenly silent as the team waited for the fax. McGee pulled the paper from the machine before the ink had dried.

"Dear Thom E. Gemcity," he read. "I loved your novel. The characters were very compelling. Keep your nose to the grindstone. You're a star. Love, Jeanne Noire."

"What does it mean?" Gibbs asked.

"She's telling us who she's going to go after," said Fornell.

"Jeanne Benoit?" Ziva asked, but Fornell shook his head.

"Too obvious. She liked to divert attention away from her real target."

"What about the last name? Perhaps 'Noire' is the clue."

"I think that's just her signature," said Fornell. "Eight balls are black."

McGee rubbed his knuckles anxiously. "What if she hurts Abby, like Landon did? Abby is Tony's friend."

"We are all Tony's friends," said Ziva. Fornell could tell she had meant it to be supportive, but Dinozzo winced.

"It's Ziva," he said quietly.

Gibbs looked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I mean, I'm pretty sure. She wrote, 'You're a star,' and 'Keep your nose to the grindstone.' I think she was talking about the Star of David pendant Ziva always wears."

"McGee mentioned it in his first book," said Ziva. "What about the grindstone?"

"David killed Goliath with a stone."

Fornell nodded. "That's how her mind works."

"I'll ask Vance to set up a safe house," said Gibbs.

Fornell saw the fighter in Ziva balk at the proposed inactivity of sitting in a safe house, playing solitaire while her teammates looked for Eight, but then she met Tony's eyes. She gave a small nod.

"Very well," she said. "I will sit taut."


	7. Jethro

Gibbs almost tripped over Tony at the bottom of his basement stairs. His agent was sitting on the concrete floor, leaning against a cardboard box of Kelly's baby toys. Gibbs exhaled between his teeth. Tony usually came to him when he need direction, but after everything he'd learned this afternoon, he didn't know if his agent would show up or not. He felt like he knew less about Tony, rather than more. Gibbs crossed the basement to his tool bench, and dumped the rusty nails out of a couple of jars. Pouring a generous amount of bourbon into each surrogate cup, he passed one down to Tony, before sitting down next to him.

"Ziva's safe and sound. Agent Balboa's team has set up a perimeter outside the safe house."

"I should be there, Boss."

Gibbs shook his head. "No. If Shelley is watching you, you could lead her to Ziva. We need to trust her protection detail to keep her safe."

Tony took a long drink. "You know, she targeted my partner in Peoria too. I guess she didn't have much of a choice. I was between girlfriends, and she knew better than to go after my father. I kind of thought she was going to kidnap the girl who served me my coffee in the mornings, because I told her I loved her when she gave me an extra shot of espresso."

Gibbs allowed himself a small smile.

"But she decided to hurt my partner instead," said Tony.

In the field, Gibbs had seen Tony adopt every under cover role from professor to gun runner, and in the office, he'd seen him slip into the more subtle covers of clown, flirt, whipping boy, teacher and friend, but he didn't know what to do with the Tony that sat on his basement floor, squeezing his eyes shut like he was trying not to cry. In that moment, Gibbs realized that Eight had gone after Tony in the worst possible way, because what affected Tony more than the threat of hardship, pain or even death was the simple, but heartbreaking fear of being left alone.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked," said Tony.

"Dinozzo."

"I figured it was a given that all the girls were after me."

"Tony."

Tony shrugged, with the movement lacked his usual grace. "What was I supposed to say? My partner almost died because of me!"

"I talked to Fornell. She didn't die. You got to her in time."

"Shelley wouldn't have looked at her twice if it wasn't for me."

"That doesn't make it your fault."

"Carolyn didn't want anything to do with me after that. My partner. She didn't blame me. She didn't say it was my fault. But she couldn't get away from me fast enough. She said she was going to put in a request for a transfer."

"You beat her to it."

"But she followed me to Philly."

"Carolyn?" Gibbs' brow furrowed.

"Shelley. I mean, not really. She was strapped into a straight jacket, with an IV line full of Haloperidol in her hand. And the Bureau did a really good job covering it up. They said it was classified, because it was a federal case. They said it was for my protection, but I think they just didn't want anyone to know that a podunk cop from Illinois beat them to the most publicized sociopath since the Zodiac Killer."

The glass of bourbon sat forgotten on the concrete next to Tony. Wherever he was, it wasn't in Gibbs' basement.

"But Abby wasn't the first person to work out who arrested Eight. It wasn't in my file. It never went public, I think because the people obsessed enough to figure it out didn't want the attention. But I got letters, and things like that. You know what I mean."

Gibbs didn't know what he meant, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

"So I moved on. Then I moved on again. It's not like it was this big sacrifice. In Philly there were extenuating circumstances, and in Baltimore there was you, but I tried not to stay too long in one place."

"You stopped getting close to people."

Tony picked up the glass of bourbon, but instead of taking a drink, he just stared at the contents. "It wasn't that big a leap."

"That's no way to live, Dinozzo," said Gibbs.

Tony set the glass down again, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Well, I couldn't. I couldn't leave NCIS after two years, because you'd just hired Kate, and someone needed to protect her from your bad moods."

Gibbs figured the strained expression on Tony's face was an attempt to smile so he said, "Funny, Dinozzo."

"Not really."

Gibbs shifted his weight to take the pressure off his bad knee. "Why do you think I hired her?"

"What?" Tony asked.

"Don't get me wrong, Kate was a damn good agent, but I hired her almost two years to the day after I brought you home from Baltimore. You didn't think that was a coincidence, did you?"

Tony wouldn't meet Gibbs eyes. "You don't believe in coincidences."

Gibbs frowned. He was trying to tell Tony that he was worth fighting for, but Gibbs was never very good with words, and his agent's reaction wasn't what he'd been expecting. When Tony spoke, his voice was so soft that Gibbs almost didn't hear him.

"One more woman I got killed. I wonder if Ziva will be next?"

"Dinozzo," Gibbs breathed.

"Kate and Paula and Jenny, and I can't do this anymore Gibbs! I can't get anyone else killed!"

"Hey! You did not get any of them killed!"

Gibbs winced when Tony laughed. "Whatever happened to not believing in coincidences?"

"You did not get any of them killed," he repeated.

Tony dropped his forehead onto his knees, but he didn't answer. Gibbs rested his palm on the back of Tony's skull that he had hit so often, in affection and anger. He stroked a calloused thumb across Tony's hair.

"Stop beating yourself up, Dinozzo. There are enough criminals lining up to do it for you."

"I wish they would," Tony said to his knees.

"What?"

"I just wish she would go after me, instead of Ziva. I just wish it."

"Well yeah, Tony," he said softly. "That's why she went after Ziva."

"Boss," Tony said, lifting his head. Gibbs recognized a look in Tony's eyes that he hadn't seen since Baltimore.

"You are not quitting."

Tony glared at him. "It isn't your decision to make."

"Well, it sure as hell isn't yours," Gibbs said, not caring how ridiculous he sounded. "Not now, Dinozzo. Not like this. Someday, when you have your own team. Somewhere closer than Rota."

Tony shot him a look, but Gibbs didn't want to open that can of worms, so he kept talking.

"Someday you'll leave, but not because anyone made you. She isn't going to beat you, Tony. You're the most stubborn man I've ever met. And I was in the goddamn Marine Corps. Ziva's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. "

"I am fine," said Tony, and Gibbs recognized the tone he'd used during the White case, when he told Kate he wasn't worried.

"You know, it's a crime to lie to a federal agent," he said.

Tony didn't miss a beat. "Only during an investigation. Is that what this is, Boss? Are you interrogating me? I am a key witness."

"Not when your in my home, Tony."

"Well then what am I?" he challenged.

"My partner," said Gibbs, and he saw the tension leave his agent's body. He hoped it was because he'd finally managed to say something right, and not because Tony was too tired to fight anymore.


	8. Vance

Vance wasn't happy when he had to learn about his Major Crimes Response Team's involvement in the Eight case from the FBI. He'd spent the last day doing damage control. Between Vance and the Director of the FBI, they'd managed to keep the press out of the picture, but he knew it wouldn't be long before someone found out that Eight was in Washington D.C. and then ZNN would have a field day.

Vance leaned over the railing outside MTAC and watched his premier team at work.

Gibbs was deep in conversation with Fornell, who was sitting in Ziva's chair with his feet propped up on her desk. McGee was pretending to check the BOLO that still hadn't garnered any credible hits, while he was really checking on Dinozzo, who was reviewing the case files from 1999.

Vance's first instinct was to pull Dinozzo from the field. He was obviously too close to the case, but Vance knew that he would only encourage the distrust that Gibbs' team had harbored for him since he split them up. Besides, Dinozzo was an in-fighter if Vance had ever seen one. He had a good chin, and he could outmaneuver any opponent. Vance didn't always admire the kid's methods, but they needed him in the ring for this match.

"McGee," said Gibbs. His voice was unnaturally loud, even for him. Vance was already halfway down the stairs when McGee stood up.

"What is it?" asked Fornell.

"She sent me an email."

"You never check your email," said Dinozzo. "It's your _bête noire_. Maybe she's trying to fuck with your mind too."

Gibbs glared at him, and Tony said, "Shutting up, Boss."

McGee started typing. "It's a video."

"Put it on the plasma screen," said Vance.

"I need to check it for viruses. Gibbs' computer is connected up to the agency network. It could bring down the whole system if it gets infected."

"That reminds me, Probie," said Dinozzo. "It's Thursday. Don't you have a meeting with a producer today?"

Vance raised an eyebrow. He wondered, not for the first time, what was going on in Dinozzo's mind.

McGee seemed to understand. "I cancelled it."

Dinozzo shot his junior agent a long look. He didn't answer but McGee seemed to understand that too, because he smiled before turning his attention back to Gibbs' computer.

"It's clean," he said.

The team turned to face the plasma screen. The sound of footsteps came from the speakers, but the screen remained blank. Vance had opened his mouth to ask McGee why the video wasn't playing, when a figure stepped into the camera's line of sight. The image was grainy, and the lighting was dim, but he recognized Eight from her mug shots.

After Vance had hung up the phone, late last night, and opened the case file that he'd received from the FBI, he'd squinted at the photos, because Eight's short blond hair and blunt nose were almost identical to the features of the mother of three that carpooled with him and his daughters on the way to the school talent show last year.

He wished he could say that there was something in her eyes that identified her as a killer, but she didn't look unbalanced. If anything, she looked like a woman tired out from playing with her children rather than a woman tired out from slitting throats.

Eight smiled for the camera and said, "Shame on you, for locking Agent Lisa up. You've put me behind the eight ball. Now I have to take another shot. This is what you get when you change the rules."

Vance blinked, and Eight disappeared from the screen. She was replaced by monochromatic footage of a large room with a half-finished wooden boat in the middle of the floor.

"I didn't know you had security cameras in your basement," said McGee.

"Neither did I," said Gibbs.

Dinozzo spoke up. "Well, you do leave your door unlocked, Boss. Anyone could get in."

On the screen, Dinozzo walked into the camera's line of sight and sat down on the basement floor.

"Yeah," said Gibbs. "Anyone."

Gibbs followed his senior field agent down the basement stairs, poured a couple of glasses of bourbon, and sat next to Dinozzo.

When he opened his mouth, his voice was distorted, but audible. "Ziva's safe and sound. Agent Balboa's team has set up a perimeter outside the safe house, and McGee is with her."

"I should be there, Boss."

"No. If Shelley is watching you, you could lead her to Ziva. We need to trust her protection detail to keep her safe."

"You know, she targeted my partner in Peoria too. I guess she didn't have much of a choice. I was between girlfriends, and she knew better than to go after my father. I kind of thought she was going to kidnap the girl who served me my coffee in the mornings, because I told her I loved her when she gave me an extra shot of espresso. But she decided to hurt my partner instead."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Recognizing the personal turn the conversation was taking, Vance stepped behind Gibbs desk and muted the video.

"She's proving that she has access to Gibbs," said Vance. "Does that mean that she's going to target him?"

"I'd like to see her try," muttered Fornell.

"I don't think so," said Dinozzo. He patted his pockets. When he didn't find what he was looking for he started pulling open his desk drawers.

"Why did she say she was behind the eight ball?" asked Vance. "Isn't she the eight ball?"

"It's a pool term. It means you can't take a direct shot without sinking your opponent's eight ball and losing the game," said Gibbs.

Dinozzo pulled a piece of paper from the garbage can. He picked up the phone and started to dial. Vance and Gibbs exchanged a look.

"Hello, my name is Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo. I work for NCIS. I need to speak to Laura White," he paused. "How long has it been since you've seen her? Where did she say she was going? Thank you Elise. I'll be in touch."

"Tony," Gibbs prompted.

Dinozzo up at his boss' voice, and blinked, like he was surprised to find his team watching him. He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the piece of paper with Laura White's phone number into it.

"That was Laura's roommate," he said.

"Who's Laura?" Vance asked.

"The girl from the Starbucks. The one we stopped at yesterday."

Gibbs frowned. "In my basement, you said that you thought Shelley would target the girl who served you coffee."

"She did. Laura's missing."

The bullpen was silent for a moment as the agents processed the latest development in the case.

Gibbs turned to McGee, "Can you trace the email?

"It was rerouted multiple times. I might be able to trace it, but it will take a long time."

"Laura White doesn't have a long time," said Tony.

"Abby and I can trace it," McGee said, with renewed determination.

"Do it, Tim," said Gibbs, and McGee headed for the elevator.

Tony was staring at the plasma screen, where he and Gibbs were engaged in a silent conversation. In black and white, Tony lowered his pixilated forehead to touch his knees, and Gibbs placed a hand on the back of his head. Vance turned away, suddenly feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic.


	9. Laura

"I'll pay you," said Laura, even though she knew this couldn't be about money because she didn't know anybody who had more than twenty dollars in their wallet. She'd never had a job that paid more than minimum wage. She'd moved from city to city, working at bookstores, toy stores, movie theaters, and coffee shops. Places where she'd had to wear aprons and polyester polo shirts, not pencil skirts and power heels.

The woman who had knocked her unconscious outside of Starbucks, hitting her over the head with one of the metal chairs from the outdoor tables, didn't even look up. She finished tying Laura's wrists together, and exited the room, leaving Laura alone with her thoughts.

The woman reminded Laura of someone, and it took her a long time to realize who it was. On her first day at the movie theater where she'd sold popcorn and swept up ticket stubs for a couple of months, Laura had watched a training video with an actress who looked identical to her abductor.

When Laura sat down to watch the video, the corporate logo had appeared on the screen, and spokeswoman who looked like the crazy woman had said, "Your job isn't to sell tickets or clean auditoriums. Your job is to make the customer feel comfortable. People come to the movies to escape from a variety of things."

After eight minutes, Laura had wanted to escape from the movie theater.

When the blockbuster of the summer came out later that week, Laura was scheduled to work at the concessions counter. She had burned her hand on the imitation butter, and asked everyone if they wanted to pay a quarter more for a larger popcorn.

One customer had said, "That's suggestive selling, isn't it? What do they give you for doing that?"

There was an employee incentive program. If she asked a corporate representative if they wanted to pay a quarter more for a larger popcorn, she got twenty dollars. But she didn't say this to the customer.

She said, "It gives me the satisfaction of knowing that I've saved you money."

"Really."

"No," she said. "They're holding me hostage. Get help."

About a week ago, Elise had commented that a movie theater suited Laura better than a coffee shop, because she lived in a fantasy world. At the time, Laura had thrown a pillow at her roommate, but now she realized that Elise was probably right. Laura knew that she going to die, but she felt like she was watching a movie. The kind of movie that makes you want to yell at the screen, even though the actress will always take a shower, a shortcut or a faulty flashlight into the basement. A horror movie, but still just a movie.

If she survived past the credits, Laura decided that it was time to move again. She would find another part time, minimum wage job, in another town. It was a shame, because she liked living with Elise, and she'd been hoping to get a call from the Brad Pitt look alike that she'd served a mocha to earlier that week.

She liked that fact that he had ordered a mocha, instead of a cup of black coffee like his father had. She'd given him an extra pump of chocolate, and her digits on the back of his receipt.

When light flooded the room, and the Brad Pitt look alike appeared in front of her, Laura thought she was still fantasizing.

"Clear," he said, sounding disappointed. He pressed his fingers to her neck. "I found Laura. I don't think she's hurt, but she's in shock. Call an ambulance."

He turned to face someone outside of Laura's line of sight and said, "Good job, Tim. Tell Abby I owe her a Caff-Pow."

As the sound of sirens reached her ears, and her eyes slid shut, Laura wondered what a Caff-Pow was.


	10. Carolyn

Carolyn sat in a safe house and waited for her microwavable fettuccini alfredo to finish thawing.

She knew that Eight wouldn't attack her, but the Chief of Police had called her into his cluttered office, and mumbled, "Better safe than sorry." He hadn't met her eyes, but she knew that was just because he didn't want to see the scars that lined her face like wrinkles.

She'd had wanted to say, "Too late," but she nodded instead.

The microwave beeped. Carolyn looked at the cardboard tray and sighed before dumping it into the garbage can. She hadn't been able to eat anything since Tony called her to warn her about Eight's escape.

She'd picked up the phone, and he'd said her name in the same voice he'd used the day he found her lying in a cornfield. Carolyn remembered thinking that if people just stopped growing corn, and abandoning buildings, and walking through alleys, the crime rate would drop like a stone.

She'd lain in the dirt, listening to the sound of stalks breaking as Tony pushed his way through the vegetation. He had untied her hands, but he hadn't held them as they waited for the ambulance to arrive. He'd said, "I'm sorry, Care."

She remembered the way he'd called her Care the day they met, and she'd hated it, until one day she didn't. She remembered the way he'd let her cry on his shoulder when her boyfriend dumped her. He'd been caring and sensitive right up until the moment she started to get embarrassed, and then he'd made an inappropriate comment so she would have someone to hit. She remembered sitting in the squad car, sharing coffee and doughnuts, indulging in clichés because they still loved being cops.

He'd been the one to pack his things in a box and drive east, but Carolyn had been the one who'd left. This time, she didn't have a shoulder to cry on, or anyone to hit.

Carolyn knew she'd made the right choice. She knew he wouldn't be able to look at her without seeing blood on her face, and she wouldn't be able to look at him without seeing Eight. She knew this, but she still felt guilty for leaving him. She felt like an accomplice.


	11. Officer David

The safe house was a modest two-story building that reminded Ziva of her brief stay in Gibbs' home when she was under suspicion from the FBI. When she first arrived, she had been tempted to check the basement for a boat. Instead she had settled herself on the edge of the leather couch, and removed a pack of playing cards, tattered from years of stakeouts, from her backpack. She went through the familiar motion of laying out a game of solitaire, spacing the cards evenly with the tips of her fingers.

In her peripheral vision, Agent Balboa had directed his team to patrol the perimeter of the safe house. He took his place outside the open door to the living room, giving Ziva a semblance of privacy.

A day later, nothing had changed, except that Ziva was getting restless.

She placed the Queen of Spades on top of the King of Hearts.

The motto of Mossad was, "Where there is no guidance, a nation falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety," but Ziva knew from experience that sometimes one soldier could succeed where an army could not.

She placed the Seven of Diamonds on top of the Eight of Spades.

Eight was practiced in misinformation and sadism, but she had not been trained by Mossad.

If Ziva apprehended Eight, then she could go home, and McGee could stop jumping at shadows, and Gibbs could stop looking at Tony like he was a stranger. Instead of waiting for Eight to contact them, Ziva could make the first move. She could change the rules of the game.

The Six of Clubs on top of the Seven of Diamonds.

She knew that Gibbs and Tony would disapprove, but they had always underestimated her abilities. They would forgive her when Eight was in custody. After all, Rule Thirteen was, "It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission."

Ziva glanced at the doorway, making sure Agent Balboa was still in the hallway. Remembering Laurie Niles' escape from her home, she made her way to the window. She waited for the shadow near the edge of the property to move out of sight before opening the window and dropping herself lightly onto the grass. She kept low as she ran to the driveway. She knew the agents would hear the engine, but they would notice she was missing as soon as Balboa checked on her anyway. She was only losing a few minutes.

As she pulled out the driveway, She ignored the shouts coming from the direction of the house. She had already decided to focus her search on the area surrounding Tony's apartment, since Eight was clearly surveying her partner. Ziva turned in the direction of Tony's home.

She had driven less than a mile, when she saw something in the middle of the road. She realized that it was a person, standing in front of her vehicle, smiling into her headlights. The part of her mind that had been trained as an investigator registered blond hair and a small build before she twisted the steering wheel instinctively.

In the minutes that followed, Ziva heard her car door open, and felt the pressure of the seat belt being released, but her head hurt too much to understand the significance the sensations. She had one coherent thought before she lost consciousness.

Tony had been right. She actually did drive up a wall.


	12. Sarah

Sarah looked at the Christ Killer, this woman who thought she was pretty, sitting in the chair that Sarah had tied her to, with her head held high and her chin up, and Sarah could see her throat move when she swallowed.

Sarah used to think she was pretty too, with her head held high and her chin up, when she used to play the game. The dating game.

She remembered the morning she stopped playing the game, the dating game. She remembered setting the phone, one of those old-fashioned cradle phones with the curly cord because that's vintage, back on the hook and looking at herself in the mirror. She was beautiful, she was gorgeous and she had a date before the phone rang.

Sarah remembered sitting down at her vanity, one of those pretentious, vain vanities with the big mirror and organza skirt. She had picked up a cartridge of lipstick, painted, smudged and blotted. She had smiled at her reflection.

She remembered painting her nails that morning, toenails too, even though they wouldn't be visible with her shoes on and everything. She had painted them in this unkempt murky green color called _Talk Dirty_. The color, it was hideous, but the name made it worthwhile. Sarah had always loved nail polish names.

Glitter called _Pearl Harbor_.

Black called _Black on Black_.

Pink called _Italian Love Affair_.

Her favorite was a vivid primary red called _I'm Not Really a Waitress_.

She had wanted that job, making up those names for nail polish, but then she would know that her creativity and cleverness were being wasted on vain people. People who painted their keratin protein.

It had always fascinated Sarah, how people would color their fingernails even though they're just protein, and whiten their teeth even though they're just an extension of their skeletons, and dye their hair even though, hair is just dead cells. People bleach their dead cells, curl them or straighten them. They run their fingers through each other's dead cells.

Sarah remembered finishing her makeup and she was beautiful, she was gorgeous and she was about to take herself out on a date. It wasn't that she was a bad person, a bitter heartless bitch, but it was such a hassle that she had to pay for her own dinner. She was always losing.

The Christ Killer, the woman, she was looking at Sarah and asking why she was so obsessed with Tony. Anthony D. Dinozzo. Sarah knew what the "D" stood for, but she wasn't telling.

Anthony D. Dinozzo made Sarah feel like she felt when she used to play the game, the dating game.

"Why?" she asked.

Really, there are about seven billion people on the planet, which makes it kind of tongue-in-cheek that the most universal emotion is loneliness. Really, everyone is looking for a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a best friend forever, or at least someone who gets them as good as than their Tivo.

"Tony is not a toy," the Christ Killer said.

The Christ Killer, the woman, Sarah could tell that she liked playing games with Tony too. He was just too much fun. The look in his eyes when he thought he was losing, and he always thought he was losing.

She remembered picking up the Magic Eight Ball that rested on her pretentious, vain vanity with the big mirror and organza skirt, and shaking it. She wanted to know if she would win the game, the dating game. This was before the phone rang.

Outlook not so good.


	13. Gibbs

"Ziva's missing," said Gibbs, succinctly.

"Well, shit," said Fornell, as Gibbs hung up the phone.

Tony and McGee didn't say anything. They'd been listening to the half of the conversation that they could hear, and even though Gibbs knew he hadn't done anything more than grunt, they'd known that it was bad news, and this was the bad news they'd been waiting for.

The two agents sat down and started typing before Gibbs had slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Nothing on the BOLO," said McGee. Fornell was leaning over his shoulder, staring at the screen.

"I haven't gotten a message from Shelley," said Tony. "But you should check your email too."

Gibbs nodded and pulled up his inbox. He clicked on a reminder for a conference on interoffice communication because he didn't recognize the sender, but then he realized that was just because he tended to avoid anyone who tried to make him talk.

He glanced at McGee, but the junior field agent shook his head.

Gibbs sank into his chair. "Doesn't she always send a clue?"

"Maybe she doesn't want us to find her," said McGee.

"No," said Gibbs. "She wants Tony. She wants Dinozzo to find her."

"Maybe she thinks I should already know where she is," said Tony.

Gibbs wondered briefly if this was what Tony's campfires had been like while he was in Mexico, worrying about tropical storm season and leaky roofs. Things like that had seemed important then.

"How?" asked Fornell.

"Would she take Ziva to the same place she took your partner?" asked Gibbs.

"No way she's getting on a plane with the BOLO, Boss." Tony looked at him like he was the psychopath.

"I mean the same kind of place."

"Oh. Right. Not unless there are any cornfields on the hill."

"What if she already gave us the clue?" asked McGee.

"Keep talking," said Gibbs.

"Um," said McGee. "She said she was going to attack Ziva earlier, so maybe she gave us the clue earlier too. That's all."

"It's a place to start," said Fornell.

"It narrows it down anyway."

"To what?" asked Fornell. He answered himself. "The crime scene, the publisher's office, the coffee shop. Anywhere else?"

Tony was frowning at McGee, who looked down at his rumpled dress shirt.

"What?" he asked self consciously.

"When we find her, keep your mouth shut," said Tony.

In an inadvertent show of rebellion, McGee's mouth fell open. "What?"

"You're a hell of a lot smarter than me, and she doesn't need to know that."

"You think she would target me?" asked McGee. He sounded slightly nauseous, and Gibbs was glad to hear it. At the beginning of the case, the way Tim talked about Eight was almost awestruck.

"Probie, I don't think Freud could have told you what she would or wouldn't do. But keep your mouth shut anyway, okay?"

Without giving McGee time to answer, Tony turned to face Gibbs. "Call your house, Boss."

Gibbs didn't question his second in command. He pulled his cell from his pocket, but it took him a minute to remember the number for his landline, and another minute before he heard the tone that told him Tony was right.

"Phone's disconnected," he said.

Tony made a noise that might have been laughter. "She's in your basement, Boss. She's got Ziva in your basement. I can't believe you left your door unlocked when there's a serial killer targeting people I work with."

"Grab your gear," was all Gibbs said.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he turned to Fornell. "Tobias. You get backup, and then tell Ducky and Abby what's going on before you follow us."

"Is the backup for the confrontation with Eight, or with Abby?"

Gibbs allowed himself a small smile. "She'll be even worse if she's left out of the loop. I want Ducky to meet us at the scene, and an ambulance too."

Fornell shook his head, but he stayed in the elevator when they disembarked. The team was silent as Gibbs led the way to the car.

He exited the parking garage, veering between pessimism and optimism almost as quickly as he changed lanes. He felt guilty for thinking it, but he was almost glad that Ziva had been taken, because if anyone could change the rules of the game, it was Ziva. She didn't even understand the rules of most games, save the unexpected exception of Scrabble.

He glanced to his right, trying to read Tony.

"Don't worry, Dinozzo. I've got your six."

"Not the number I need right now."

Gibbs pressed his lips together. He'd never seen his agent so tense, and he was afraid of the implications. Tony was letting Eight get to him.

Gibbs knew there was something fundamentally wrong about being jealous of this woman with the short blond hair and the history of violence, but he couldn't help it when he realized that in some unexpected way, she knew Tony better than he did.

The car was quiet for a moment, before Tony said, "You remember the Fuentes case?"

Gibbs blinked. "When you jumped?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "I didn't jump, Boss."

In the backseat, McGee had moved to the edge of his seat, as if proximity would make their words make sense.

"What about it?"

Tony laughed and Gibbs would have closed his eyes if he wasn't driving. He knew what it meant when his agent acted like everything was fine, but it still scared him when Tony forgot how to stop.

"I wish we were in China," said Tony.


	14. Special Agent Dinozzo

There was no surreptitious way to enter a basement, so Tony kicked in Gibbs' door and ran down the stairs, praying Shelley wouldn't kill Ziva as soon as she heard him coming.

"You want to hear a joke, Special Agent Tommy?"

She was waiting for them, a gun propped casually against Ziva's temple. Ziva was sitting on a cardboard box, her hands and feet bound. Some part of Tony's brain recognized the box he had leaned on the last time he was in Gibbs' basement, sitting on the floor, waiting for Gibbs to yell at him for keeping secrets. It wasn't labeled. He wondered what was in it.

Ziva looked unharmed and homicidal, which Tony thought was a good sign.

"No," said Tony, keeping his gun level with Eight's eyes.

"Why?"

"You're liable to think anything is funny."

"Look who's talking," she said.

"No need to get nasty," said Tony, just talking to try to keep her talking.

"Shows what you know."

In his peripheral vision, he saw Gibbs and McGee move into position on either side of him.

"Why couldn't Helen Keller drive?"

"What?" asked McGee before Tony could say anything. Tony glared at him.

"It's a joke. Haven't you ever heard a joke before?" Shelley looked at McGee like there was something wrong with him.

When no one picked up their cue, she said, "Because she was a woman."

Shelley didn't seem to notice that she was the only one laughing.

"I think you need to work on your comic timing," said Ziva. Tony glared at her too, for good measure.

"Everyone's a critic," Shelley turned to face Tony. "You liked my joke, didn't you Tony? You always had a good sense of humor. Your partner didn't. Not Helen, here. Carolyn. She didn't like my jokes, but I gave her laugh lines anyway."

Tony didn't flinch, but his stillness was more conspicuous than movement would have been.

Shelley's eyes softened, even though Tony's gun was still aimed between them. "Oh, Tony. You always think you're losing."

No one said anything for a moment. Tony could hear Shelley, Ziva, Gibbs and McGee breathing in the stillness of the basement, but he couldn't separate the sounds. Shelley's eyes slipped halfway shut, as she used the gun to part Ziva's hair in an inversely intimate gesture.

Sirens echoed softly in the distance.

"What do you want, Shelley?" asked Tony, finally.

She shook her head. "If you have a secret, keep it to yourself."

"Your Gibbs impression sucks."

Shelley glared at him.

"Oh," said Tony. "That's better."

"They're going to go away anyway. What does the reason matter? Promotion, sickness, marriage, bullet. They'll still be gone. I'll never be gone."

"You'll be pretty gone if I shoot you."

Shelley smiled at him. Her finger moved off the trigger, and even though Tony had come a long way since he handcuffed her in a cornfield, he didn't need the training to know that she was going to surrender.

He waited for himself to take the shot, to take her out before it was too late.

Instead of a gunshot, a dull thud echoed in the crowded basement as Shelley's gun hit the concrete floor. Gibbs and McGee kept their weapons trained on Shelley as Tony slid the handcuffs around her wrists. Anticlimactically, he led her upstairs, past Gibbs pale sofa and out of the house.

As they waited for Fornell to climb out of his car, Shelley leaned towards Tony. Her hair brush against his cheek, which turned red and then blue in the flashing lights, and she whispered, "Best two out of three?"


	15. Tim

By the time Tony returned to the basement, McGee and Gibbs had untied Ziva. She was still sitting on the cardboard box, which made McGee wonder whether she was as unharmed as she said she was.

"You okay?" Tony asked her.

"I am fine," she said. "Only my pride is injured. Eight stood in the middle of the road, and I had to swerve to avoid hitting her."

"I always said your driving would get you into trouble." McGee was surprised to hear how steady Tony's voice sounded. He wondered how long that was going to last.

Ziva was solemn. "Yes, you did. I should have listened.

"We're going to talk about why you left the safe house," said Gibbs. "Later."

Ziva nodded, rubbing her wrists where the ropes had burned her skin.

She looked at Tony. "You knew she was going to surrender. You could have killed her."

"I know."

"You wanted to."

"I did," said Tony. "Which is why I didn't."

McGee shook his head. Eight was supposed to be lying on one of Ducky's tables, not sitting in the same cell that she had just escaped from. He'd seen the look in Tony's eyes, and he hadn't thought that it could end any other way.

"I don't get it. Why didn't she resist arrest? Why would she stage something like this, and then just go quietly?" he asked.

Gibbs came closer, standing next to Tony so that their shoulders touched. "She let Tony arrest her, because she isn't done playing with him."

"She is going to try to hurt Tony again," Ziva realized.

"It isn't over yet," said McGee.

"It will never be over, Tim!" Tony yelled, and McGee had his answer.

"This isn't one of your god damn books, with a beginning, a middle and a happily ever after! It's always, "Ask again later." She let me catch her. I wasn't good. I wasn't even lucky. There are no such things as good guys, and if we knew everything about her we would probably realize there's no such things as bad guys, but we don't get more than one perspective. We don't get a complete story. We don't get catharsis. We don't get anything but tired."

McGee let Tony's anger wash over him, like he had seen Tony do for Gibbs more times than he could count.

"You're wrong," he said. "There are such things as good guys."

Tony looked away so fast that it was almost a flinch, but when he met McGee's eyes he was smiling, and McGee was pretty sure it wasn't even fake.

"That was really cliché, Probie. Promise me you won't use that in your next book."


End file.
